


Dad One and Dad Two

by katsukiy



Series: tumblr prompts [10]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Podium family shenanigans, Protective Yuri Plisetsky, an asshole interviewer is there to witness it, or: he starts dealing with the fact that he actually likes being with the lovebirds, yurio faces the truth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 03:56:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11305194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katsukiy/pseuds/katsukiy
Summary: The reporter doesn’t even congratulate him on the new shiny medal hanging from his neck. It’s only a bronze, but it’s still very rude.





	Dad One and Dad Two

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Weis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weis/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Папа раз и папа два](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11377080) by [green_pastry (Weis)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weis/pseuds/green_pastry)



> for the prompt: Yurochka Plisetsky being (adorably) territorial over his ties to Victor and Yuuri both.

Yuri Plisetsky is laudably adept at showing his love in hidden ways. He fits it into the dark nooks between snarls and insults, keeps it guarded with bared teeth where it sits, liquid threatening to spill out at any moment, caught in his throat, scorching hot like molten lava. His love is sentient, annoyingly unruly, and the more he tries to guzzle it down, the more it rises to choke him.

One day, he’ll learn that love is nothing to be locked into a chest, that just as a vulcano, stuffing it too far down will only make it pop out angrier than before, and lapilli are nothing to be joked about. But that’s not happening yet, not for another pair of years at least, and that’s a burden he has to bear with poise and grace. Except he has no intention to.

Yuri Plisetsky doesn’t want to deal with poise and grace, not ever, not unless he really, specifically has to. He’s stuck between wanting to scream at the top of his lungs and crying it all out into his pillow, and the choice is pretty easy to make. He kicks and throws things, stands with his legs just a little too far from each other, pulls up his hood against every external input he doesn’t feel like accepting. He screams, of course, and pretends to gag and stuffs his mouth full of profanities against the lava inside his gut. He might be a prima ballerina on the ice, but that’s just professionalism.

If only _everyone_ had his same professionalism.

 

* * *

 

 

The gross couple. That’s what he calls them. Not _Dad One_ and _Dad Two_ , like Mila keeps changing his mobile contacts to. (No matter how many times he changes them back, Mila always figures out his passcode and Yuri has to painstakingly go through the process of figuring out who’s who again. Because she likes to swap the numbers to mess with him and wipe out their convos to make it harder. Of course.)

(There's also the fact that Viktor and Yuuri text in a scarily similar way?)

But then again, Mila is the least of his problems. Because, back to _the gross couple_ \- Yuri does his stretches religiously. He has to, because he wants to be perfect, and because he’s scared of his body betraying him.

He’s kicking up his foot to hook his leg on his shoulder, careful not to hit himself with the skate guard, when he hears them. They’re _giggling_. He really doesn’t need to see this, but he whips his head around to anyway. Viktor has his hand splayed on Yuuri’s calf as he pretends to help him stretch it up. Their noses are too close and they have matching silly smiles painted on their faces. It’s sickening. And adorable, but Yuri stops that thought at the origin, sticking strenuously to the first one.

“It’s seven am, which means that it’s too early for this shit” he grouses, a little too loud for comfort. He sees them jump in their places, and that makes him suddenly really smug.

Viktor doesn’t budge from his uncomfortably close position, still. “We’re stretching,” he replies merrily, and proceeds to fold his husband like a pretzel. There’s a terrible gleam in his eyes, and Yuri shudders when his brain automatically tries to guess the thoughts Viktor is probably having. Definitely not safe for work, and not where he wants his thoughts to be going right now.

Tragically, he can still hear them. “My Yuuri, you’re so deliciously bendy,” Viktor trills, and then gets his mouth down to whisper something directly into Yuuri’s ear that makes him splutter and flush.

This guess is pretty easy to make. Yuri’s unholy shriek can do nothing to erase it. “I hate you,” he spits as he steps out of his position and kicks off his skate guards. Yuuri looks apologetic, but that’s not gonna cut it.  
“I hate you _so much_ ,” Yuri repeats, and is finally able to skate away.

“We love you too!” Viktor yells to his retreating back, and then “Ow!” as Yuuri thwacks him on the shoulder.

Despite himself, Yuri smiles. They can’t see him, anyway.

 

* * *

 

This reporter is not different than any other Yuri has met in his short lifetime under the reflectors of fame. Nosy, too blunt, not very knowledgeable of concepts like personal space and privacy. She’s tightly snug into a dark tailleur, the camera guy tailing her closely, and she thrusts the microphone into his face with intent, narrowly missing his nose with a corner of the square mic flag. “The Ice Fairy of Russia,” she says, and Yuri’s eyebrow twitches minutely. He has to be courteous, not make a scene. He has to duck and hightail it out of here as fast as he can with a well practiced “no comment” and then he’ll be free to turn back at the hotel and _maybe_ , if they beg hard enough, get hotpot with the gross couple.

The reporter doesn’t even congratulate him on the new shiny medal hanging from his neck. It’s only a bronze, but it’s still very rude.

“You know the internet has dubbed you and the Katsuki-Nikiforov pair as the _podium family_ ,” he doesn’t mean to even listen to her question, but as he opens his mouth for his line, she barrels on “but we all saw you express your distaste at this clearly and vocally. Would you say you _hate_ it?”

Before thinking better about it, Yuri closes his mouth and blinks. Just in time for the reporter to add “We all know the Katsuki-Nikiforovs are old news anyway, and their retirement is being rumored from a long time now. Aren’t you, say, disgusted at having your name always tied up with disgraced skaters as they are?”

In another universe, Yuri replies succinctly with his coldest “no comment” just before turning his back to her. In another, more satisfying universe, Yuri punches the shit out of the honestly terrible reporter _and_ the camera guy both, coming out unscathed and really smug. In _this_ universe, though, Yuri Plisetsky squares his shoulders and the bridge of his nose starts going red. His eyes narrow, his lips curl in a derisive snarl. “What the fuck,” (this will be disgracefully redacted) “is your problem?”

He doesn’t give time for the question to settle in. “Viktor and Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov have won together more medals than you could even count on your grossly manicured fingers. And they’ll win more in the years to come. I can only hope to do half as great to the legacy they will leave when it’s time,” he takes a shrill breath from his nose, clenching his fist angrily “Just you wait. We’ll kick everybody off the podium again and again, as a _family_. Maybe that’ll shut you up!”

Words are terrible, for they reach your brain only after they already spilled out. Yuri can only watch in rapt horror as the reporter gapes like a fish out of water, and then his body moves for him.

He’s shaking with embarrassment and rage as he closes the door of the bathroom stall behind his shoulders, slumping against it right after. What the hell, he thinks. He expands his lungs to get the air back, tries to lessen the swell of panic clawing at his throat.

He’ll realize, one day, that the words were exactly the same lava he had tried to smother and push back inside since the start. He’ll learn that it burns a lot more when you let it simmer, and the quicker way to lessen the rawness it causes is to get it out as fast as possible.

For now, he just starts breathing in a regular pattern and waits for his heart to stop rabbiting in his throat. For now, he exits the stall when he’s sure no one is there to splash his face with cold water and thinks that Yakov will give him an earful whenever the interview, if you can even call it that, is released (he’s under no hopeful impression that it won’t, he’s not that naive). For now, he just hopes Viktor and Yuuri will be too preoccupied making out and being grossly in love to ever learn about it (this is an impression that he can’t really start to believe either).

On cue, his phone pings. Yuri takes another breath and whips it out of his team Russia jacket. Might as well.

**Are you coming to get hotpot with us?**

Yuri groans. The text is filed under “Dad One” and he’s had to wipe his memory to free space for some songs Otabek sent him. There’s no precedent conversation to give input as to who it is. Go figure.

 **Which dad are you again** , he punches out the send button before he can think better of it.

 **It’s Yuuri! :)** is the immediate reply. **Meet you at the hotel?**

Yuri taps an affirmative reply before pocketing his phone and heading towards the back door of the building. He doesn’t bother changing the contact names ever again.

**Author's Note:**

>  _lapilli (ləˈpɪlʌɪ/)_ \- rock fragments ejected from a volcano.
> 
> Of course I took the prompt to another lenght, who do you take me for. Also, it was so fun to write this out??  
> Mila is a great friend and I would _loathe_ her. I love her so much.
> 
> The Katuski-Nikiforov get a hold of the interview not long after it's released, but as mutually agreed they never bring it up (Viktor was not so keen on it, but that's another story). Yakov pretends to scold him but is secretly really proud of him. Mila discovers that she doesn't have to change his contact names again and clutches at her heart, thinking maybe she can finally let Yuri off the hook. For a whole second. Then she starts plotting how to mess with him again.
> 
> Huh, so. You can scream at me @[tumblr](http://yuriplisetsk.tumblr.com), as usual! Prompts are lovely even when I twist them to fit my evil purposes.  
> Comments and kudos are the source of my creativity and console me at night as I weep because yoi has taken over my life.  
> 


End file.
